Intruder Alert!
by Lady-Raven-Johnson
Summary: Celebrating 200 years of Mansfield Park! Jane Austin's third novel has an experimental spirit and an interest in possibilities; this readily suggests alternate universes to be explored. I asked the question, what would have happened if Charles Maddox and his two sisters joined the theater?
1. Chapter 1

Authoress Note

In writing this alternate universe I tried to find a location within the Novel that would reasonably allow for change. The theater chapters were the best place to introduce new characters. Charles Maddox and his two sisters are only named three times in the novel and this leaves it possible to create original characters and still use the available text. By introducing their personalities, habits and motives into the plot, the lives of all the characters are changed. I bring them into the plot by not having Edmund come to talk to Fanny before going down to breakfast.

… But she had more than fears of her own perseverance to remove; she had begun to feel undecided as to what she ought to do; and as she walked round the room her doubts were increasing. Was she right in refusing what was so warmly asked, so strongly wished for? what might be so essential to a scheme on which some of those to whom she owed the greatest complaisance, had set their hearts? Was it not ill-nature—selfishness—and a fear of exposing herself? And would Edmund's judgment, would his persuasion of Sir Thomas's disapprobation of the whole, be enough to justify her in a determined denial in spite of all the rest? It would be so horrible to her to act, that she was inclined to suspect the truth and purity of her own scruples, and as she looked around her, the claims of her cousins to being obliged, were strengthened by the sight of present upon present that she had received from them. The table between the windows was covered with work-boxes and netting-boxes, which had been given her at different times, principally by Tom; and she grew bewildered as to the amount of the debt which all these kind remembrances produced…

Mansfield Park chapter 16

Intruder Alert

Fanny re-read over the part of Cottager's wife and decided that it was not a bad role. She could not see herself acting that way, but Tom had already offered to change around the lines. Yes, she did like the lines of Cottager better than his wife, it felt more natural. Her fears of her Uncle's disapproval was deaden by the fact that he would never know. This theater project would be over before the end of the month. As for her fear of being looked at, no strangers would be present. She knew that most of the family took an early breakfast at nine o'clock and found Tom in the parlor.

"Good Fanny , now I shall ride over to Stoke to ask Mr. Maddox if he wants to join us as Anhalt." Tom said this in a deliberately loud voice, but did not look at his younger brother. Edmund said nothing. "He might even like the part of Cottager."

Fanny started back in horror. "Mr. Bertram! I thought you were going to play Cottager."

Everybody looked at Edmund. If he would not intervene to keep a stranger out, then he would certainly protect Fanny from acting with a stranger.

"You are at an age for marriage," Tom said slowly. "You might like Mr. Maddox, for you will not find a husband at Mansfield. Add to it, his two sisters are sweet girls. You need other friends in the world. After Maria is at Sotherton Julia will marry next and then where will you be?" Tom moved slowly to the door. "I shall be back before noon," he shouted.

"Well Fanny," Maria said looking at Edmund. "We should make you up nicely if you are to be courted by Mr. Maddox. Your hair stile is too plane and your face should be washed with Milk of Roses."

This only increased Fanny's alarm, which of course was the point.

"I know very little of Mr. Maddox and should like to get to know him better," Edmund said at last. "Fanny, you will not mind if I sit in on your rehearsals?"

"I invite you to do so," she answered quickly.

"But I do not think Tom will really ask him, so you have nothing to worry about," he said smiling.

"I have too many other items to sow," Mrs. Norris started. "Fanny, you will have to wear your brown gardening gown as your costume."

Fanny did not care about the dress, for she had been wearing hand-me-downs for her entire life. Even as a baby she had wore William's old gowns. Edmund's words had calmed her fears; Tom was only making a show of bringing in a stranger. Mr. Bertram returned home just as the Crawfords arrived from the parsonage. Mr. Maddox had accepted the parts of both Anhalt and Cottager, he would join the family for dinner with his eldest sister. All eyes turned towards Edmund. Fanny's eyes were pleading, she did not want to act with a stranger. Miss Crawford asked Edmund's advice on how to shorten the lines of the two lovers. Edmund hesitated and in that moment he was lost. He agreed to take the part of Anhalt and promised Fanny that he would not leave her alone to rehearse with Mr. Maddox.

Miss Crawford's smile was bright and her renewal of happiness was grate. Edmund felt that he was right in respecting such feelings; he was glad he had determined on it. Fanny could not, did not like this compromise in Edmund. And in a very short amount of time she regretted her own conformity. She felt that a test of morality had just occurred and that she had failed. If she had held her ground this would not have happened. Being required to act with a stranger completed her punishment.

Mr. and Miss Maddox were both quiet looking young people. Charles Maddox owned a pottery factory in Stoke-upon-Trent with an income of two or three thousand a year. He was a foot taller than Mr. Crawford with black curls and serious blue eyes. Miss Maddox was tall, fair and fully formed; three reasons for the Miss Bertrams to dislike her. Tom did not care, she was asked to take the part of the country girl and parlor maid. To make up for taking away the role of Anhalt, Tom gave him the extra part of the Land Lord.

"I can tell that you are timid," Miss Maddox said to Fanny when the young people were gathered in the drawing room after dinner. "But you have nothing to fear from us."

Fanny cast a fearful glance towards Edmund; who's attention was being controlled by Miss Crawford. "I am afraid of being looked at and doing wrong," she admitted.

"I have the same fear," Miss Maddox said gently. And her face conveyed such simplicity and kindness Fanny immediately felt more at ease. "I'll make you a deal. If anyone laughs at you , I'll smack them."

"I do not want to know what you two are about," Mr. Maddox said coming over and only hearing the last two words. "Miss Price I shall play your husband. What do you say we just read through the lines, before trying to say them."

Fanny agreed and as they read the first Act she felt an increase of embarrassment for Maria's sake.

"I should like to make some suggestions for your reading Miss Price," Mr. Maddox said. "Try reading louder I can barely hear you. Pretend that I am sitting at the extremity of the room desperately trying to hear you. Everybody else is talking over you and I am the only one wanting to hear what you have to say."

Fanny began reading in a slightly louder voice. Then Miss Maddox used the broad side of her fan to push Fanny's abdomen in and up. She felt as though the words were forced from her parted lips.

Edmund stormed into the East room. "Where is Tom!"

"Why, what is the matter," Fanny wanted to know.

"A painter has arrived from London! His wages alone will be two Guineas a day. Tom promised to only spend twenty on this project! And I have just heard from the footmen that he has invited three other families to the production and plans to invite more."

As Fanny descended the stairs to the theater she met Maria ascending. "Fanny, have you heard Mr. Yates rant? He does it so dreadfully."

She met Mr. Yates at the bottom of the staircase. "I must confess my disappointment in Henry Crawford, This young man is too tame and calm."

Tom stepped from the theater. "The scene painter works so slowly he will not be done before the fifteenth," he complained."

"That is only one week away," she offered.

"I have learned my part and it is so small and I have so few lines I should have chosen another play." Fanny said nothing. "I wish that we had not wasted last week on trying to settle on a play, for I am sick of waiting to act. Good god! Here comes Rushworth! I will not take the trouble of rehearsing with him, you do it."

"Miss Price would you be so kind to practice with me everybody else has disappeared."

"They might be in the theater," Fanny suggested. "And then you can rehearse with Mr. Yates."

"I looked there first," he replied. "And Mr. Yates rants dreadfully and Mr. Bertram talks so quick no one will be able to understand him. And when I asked Mr. Edmund Bertram to rehearse with me, he had not learned half his lines."

They went to the theater and found Maria with Mr. Crawford. Suddenly Fanny felt the terror of other complaints from Rushworth.

When Fanny Price was a little girl her mother told her that she had inherited her looks from the Italian and Greek side of the family. Her skin was too brown for English standers of beauty, but was unblemished and soft. Her eyes were a curious color. Emerald, blue/green, azure , no one knew what to call the color, for the light caused the change. Fanny's hair was her one outstanding beauty. Her blond locks did not curl naturally, but descended as a long thick luxurious wave. Her face was warm and open with a "Can I help you?" look about her. Fanny was only five feet tall, but she had an ample chest and a plump waste. Everything about her suggested a delicately crafted goddess of home and hearth. Charles Maddox thought she was more than pretty enough, she was beautiful. He decided that he wanted to court her and asked his sister to gather information. He needed to know her motivations, her hopes and dreams, more importantly he needed to know what frustrated her.

Fanny woke with many depressed feelings. That morning three Acts of Lovers Vows were to be performed. Mr. Maddox had agreed to change around the lines for Cottager and Cottager's wife. His lines matched her true self and she would not feel as though she was playing a part. But that was the only comfort to be found. She would have to suffer being looked at, even though it was only for a few minutes. Also Edmund and Mary were to play a very tinder scene together. Their conversation was all about love. Edmund would describe a marriage of love and Mary would come just short of a declaration of love. Fanny had been so busy over the last few days, that she had only had the time to read over the scene twice.

After washing her face with lavender water, Fanny put on her thread bare undergarments. The first layer was the breast band then the long sleeved chemise, a pair of knitted cotton stockings and a wool petticoat. For years the family had ordered large rolls of cloth to be made into the undergarments and bed clothes for the family. As the youngest member of the family Fanny was always last. Often there was not enough left over for her to make any kind of garment for herself and had to make due with what was remaining. But with Maria's wedding nearing she had hopes of more than the usual leavings. Fanny delighted in her variety of gowns to choose from. All of the dresses were ones she liked in shades of pink, blue and green. She even had a number of white gowns that made her feel rich.

The Maddox estate Sandcroft Place was seven miles from Mansfield Park. With two horses it took the Maddoxes an hour and a quarter to arrive. Tom had just enough restraint not to invite brother and sister to stay over, instead they arrived at eleven and returned home at three. Therefore the first formal rehearsal of the first three Acts would be at noon. Fanny's feelings were a mix of fear, guilt, anger and joy. She went down to breakfast with her head and heart full. She took care to eat at the late breakfast with her Aunt Bertram in order to avoid the other actors. The Maddoxes arrived and everybody moved quickly to the theater, all but Julia, Lady Bertram and Mrs. Norris.

History Check

There is some debate about time and place for the setting of Mansfield Park. For the sake of this fiction I choose 1808 to 1809 as for the "Stoke" in question I chose Stoke-upon-Trent.

Stoke was located where the young River Trent meets the Fowlea Brook. The later Roman road through Stoke remained the basis for local road transport long after the Roman occupation. The Anglican name given to this ancient place of meeting and worship was the 'stock' (meeting place) on the Trent. It was the site of the first church in the area, built of wood around the year 670 by missionaries from Lindisfarne, later rebuilt in stone, and now known as Stoke Minster. A significant small town grew up around this church. In the 18th Century, the "Grand Trunk" canal came along the Trent valley to carry china clay from Cornwall cheaply to the Potteries (and pottery safely away). Many of the promoters of the canal were pottery magnates. Also Josiah Wedgwood, the great English potter of the 18th century, lived and worked in Stoke-upon-Trent for a time.


	2. Chapter 2

Authoress Note

I should like the reader to know that I am using the public domain copy of Lovers Vows found at () The next three chapters are the first three Acts of Lovers Vows. The events of this chapter replaces chapter 18 of the novel. Note too, that I am not being very original in my writing I am doing this as a brain exercise while I work on my real project, Mansfield Ranch.

Act I

The scene was let down. It was of a high road with a town at a distance, to the right of the road A small inn, to the left a cottage. Mr. Maddox led Maria on stage from the right. "No, no," He cried. "No room for you any longer. It is the fair today in the next village; as great a fair as any in the German dominions. The country people with their wives and children take up every corner we have."

"You will turn a poor sick woman out of doors who has spent her last farthing in your house," Maria wined.

"For that very reason," Maddox said quickly. "because she has spent her last farthing."

"I can work," Maria said without conviction. Cassandra rolled her eyes and Fanny hid a smile.

"You can hardly move your hands," Maddox said trying not to smile.

"My strength will come again." Maria wanted this scene over.

"Then you may come again," he said.

"What am I to do? Where shall I go?" Maria still sounded like a child wining instead of a woman pleading for her life.

"It is fine weather, you may go anywhere." Maddox had to stop himself from laughing. It had been raining on and off for the past four days.

"Who will give me a morsel of bread to satisfy my hunger?" Edmund thought "She has never known hunger."

"Sick people eat but little." Maddox could not help remembering a conversation about food and health he had with his Uncle.

"Hard, unfeeling man, have pity," Maria said flatly. Fanny could not help thinking that Mr. Maddox was a very kind man.

"When times are hard, pity is too expensive for a poor man. Ask alms of the different people that go by." Maddox reminded himself to send food to the family of his recently deceased workers.

"Beg! I would rather starve." This time Maria said her lines with feeling.

"You may beg and starve too. What a fine lady you are! Many an honest woman has been obliged to beg. Why should not you?" Maddox could not think he would ever say such a thing to a poor lady. Maria sits in a over stuffed chair that should have been a large stone under a tree. "For instance, here comes somebody; and I will teach you how to begin." Tom comes in from the left instead of the back. "Good morning to you, Sir. Under yon tree sits a poor woman in distress, who is in need of your charity."

"Is she not ashamed of herself? Why don't she work?" Tom suddenly realized that he forgot his prop.

"She has had a fever. If you would but pay for one dinner." Maddox stop where he should for Tom to cut him off.

"The harvest has been but indifferent, and my cattle and sheep have suffered by a distemper," Tom said after a long pause and Fanny's prompting.

"My fat, smiling face was not made for begging: you'll have more luck with your thin, sour one. So, I'll leave you to yourself," Maddox said barely stopping himself from laughing.

"Oh Providence! thou hast till this hour protected me, and hast given me fortitude not to despair. Receive my humble thanks, and restore me to health, for the sake of my poor son, the innocent cause of my sufferings, and yet my only comfort. Oh, grant that I may see him once more! See him improved in strength of mind and body; and that by thy gracious mercy he may never be visited with afflictions great as mine. Protect his father too, merciful Providence, and pardon his crime of perjury to me! Here, in the face of heaven (supposing my end approaching, and that I can but a few days longer struggle with want and sorrow), here, I solemnly forgive my seducer for all the ills, the accumulated evils which his allurements, his deceit, and cruelty, have for twenty years past drawn upon me." It was Maria's longest speech, Fanny had to prompt her twice. Mr. Yates reminded her that she needed to be standing and not sitting.

Cassandra waited for her queue as the girl , but it did not come. "I have not a farthing in the world, but I am going to market to sell my eggs, and as I come back I'll give you three-pence And I'll be back as soon as ever I can."

"There was a time when I was as happy as this country girl, and as willing to assist the poor in distress," Maria said.

"Halt! I Stand at ease! It is a very hot day. A draught of good wine will not be amiss. But first let me consult my purse," Henry Crawford said marching in. Instead of the German Army uniform, he was dressed like a fine danddy. He took some coins out of his pocket. "This will do for a breakfast-the other remains for my dinner; and in the evening I shall be at home. Ha! Halloo! Landlord!" He looks at Maria. "who is leaning against the tree. Who is that ? A poor sick woman? She don't beg; but her appearance makes me think she is in want. Must one always wait to give till one is asked? Shall I go without my breakfast now, or lose my dinner? The first I think is the best. Ay, I don't want a breakfast, for dinner time will soon be here. To do good satisfies both hunger and thirst. Take this, good woman," he said holding out the money.

It was at this point that Maria's so called acting became something to watch. She spoke with real feeling and Fanny knew that it was no act.

"Mother," Crawford said as if he was truly looking at his late mother. "Mother! For God's sake what is this! How is this! And why do I find my mother thus? Speak!"

"I cannot speak, dear son!" Maria stands and throws her arms around Crawford without embarrassment and did not let go. "My dear Frederick! The joy is too great. I was not prepared."

Dear mother, compose yourself," Crawford said. Mr. Rushworth was getting angry as Maria leaned against his breast. "Now, then, be comforted. How she trembles! She is fainting."

"I am so weak, and my head so giddy-nothing to eat all yesterday," she said in a weak voice."

"Good heavens! Here is my little money, take it all! Oh mother! Mother!" Crawford made a good show of running to the Inn. "Landlord! Landlord!"

"What is the matter," Maddox said with a real frown. This was the first time he had seen Maria and Henry acting together and did not like what he saw.

"A bottle of wine quick, quick!"

"A bottle of wine! For who?"

"For me. Why do you ask? Why don't you make haste?"

"Well, well, Mr. soldier: but can you pay for it?"

"Here is money, make haste, or I'll break every window in your house."

"Patience! Patience!" Maddox thought he could beat Crawford in a fight without braking a sweat.

"You were hungry yesterday when I sat down to a comfortable dinner. You were hungry when I partook of a good supper. Oh! Why is so much bitter mixed with the joy of my return?" He had dropped to one knee and was holding Maria's hand.

"Be patient, my dear Frederick. Since I see you, I am well. But I have been very ill: so ill, that I despaired of ever beholding you again." Maria patted his head in almost a motherly way.

"Ill, and I was not with you? I will, now, never leave you more. Look, mother, how tall and strong I am grown. These arms can now afford you support. They can, and shall, procure you subsistence." He held up his thin arms as if he had the powerful muscles of a Roman legion.

Maddox entered with a bottle of whisky . "Here is wine a most delicious nectar." And forgetting his aside.

"Give it me."

"No, no the money first. One shilling and two-pence, if you please."

"This is all! Have," Henry said. "Here, here, mother."

Mr. Maddox noticed that he had been given three crowns and thought that he just might keep it. "Three halfpence too short! However, one must be charitable."

"I thank you, my dear Frederick-Wine revives me-Wine from the hand of my son gives me almost a new life," Maria said a bit too lively for a person who should be ill.

"Don't speak too much, mother. Take your time."

"Tell me, dear child, how you have passed the five years since you left me."

": Both good and bad, mother. Today plenty tomorrow not so much. And sometimes nothing at all."

"You have not written to me this long while."

"Dear mother, consider the great distance I was from you! And then, in the time of war, how often letters miscarry. Besides…"

"No matter now I see you. But have you obtained your discharge?"

"Oh, no, mother, I have leave of absence only for two months; and that for a particular reason. But I will not quit you so soon, now I find you are in want of my assistance."

"No, no, Frederick; your visit will make me so well, that I shall in a very short time recover strength to work again; and you must return to your regiment when your furlough is expired. But you told me leave of absence as granted you for a particular reason. What reason?"

"When I left you five years ago, you gave me every thing you could afford, and all you thought would be necessary for me. But one trifle you forgot, which was, the certificate of my birth from the church-book. You know in this country there is nothing to be done without it. At the time of parting from you, I little thought it could be of that consequence to me which I have since found it would have been. Once I became tired of a soldier's life, in the hope I should obtain my discharge, offered myself to a master to learn a profession; but his question was, "Where is your certificate from the church-book of the parish in which you were born?" It vexed me that I had not it to produce, for my comrades laughed at my disappointment. My captain behaved kinder, for he gave me leave to come home to fetch it and you see, mother, here I am."

During his speech Agatha should be confused and agitated, but Maria is not. "So, you are come for the purpose of fetching your certificate from the church-book."

"Yes, mother."

"Oh! Oh!"

"What is the matter ?" Agatha should bursts into tears, but Maria berried her face into Crawford's shoulder. For Heaven's sake, mother, tell me what's the matter?"

"You have no certificate."

"No!"

"No. The laws of Germany excluded you from being registered at your birth for you are a natural son!"

Crawford Starts back as if he has been slapped and pauses dramatically. "So! And who is my father?"

"Oh Frederick, your wild looks are daggers to my heart. Another time."

"No, no I am still your son and you are still my mother. Only tell me, who is my father?"

"When we parted five years ago, you were too young to be entrusted with a secret of so much importance. But the time is come when I can, in confidence, open my heart, and unload that burthen with which it has been long oppressed. And yet, to reveal my errors to my child, and sue for his mild judgment on my conduct."

"You have nothing to sue for; only explain this mystery."

"I will, I will. But my tongue is locked with remorse and shame. You must not look at me."

"Not look at you! Cursed be that son who could find his mother guilty, although the world should call her so."

"Then listen to me, and take notice of that village," she pointed off stage. "Of that castle, and of that church. In that village I was born in that church I was baptized. My parents were poor, but reputable farmers. The lady of that castle and estate requested them to let me live with her, and she would provide for me through life. They resigned me; and at the age of fourteen I went to my patroness. She took pleasure to instruct me in all kinds of female literature and accomplishments, and three happy years had passed under her protection, when her only son, who was an officer in the Saxon service, obtained permission to come home. I had never seen him before he was a handsome young man in my eyes a prodigy; for he talked of love, and promised me marriage. He was the first man who had ever spoken to me on such a subject. His flattery made me vain, and his repeated vows. Don't look at me, dear Frederick!—I can say no more." Henry Crawford takes Maria's hand and puts it to his heart with a strong look of love. "Oh! oh! my son! I was intoxicated by the fervent caresses of a young, inexperienced, capricious man, and did not recover from the delirium till it was too late," she finished with passion.

"Go on. Let me know more of my father."

"When the time drew near that I could no longer conceal my guilt and shame, my seducer prevailed on me not to expose him to the resentment of his mother. He renewed his former promises of marriage at her death; on which relying, I gave him my word to be secret and I have to this hour buried his name deep in my heart."

"Proceed, proceed! give me full information I will have courage to hear it all."

"His leave of absence expired, he returned to his regiment, depending on my promise, and well assured of my esteem. As soon as my situation became known, I was questioned, and received many severe reproaches: but I refused to confess who was my undoer; and for that obstinacy was turned from the castle. I went to my parents; but their door was shut against me. My mother, indeed, wept as she bade me quit her sight for ever; but my father wished increased affliction might befall me."

"Be quick with your narrative, or you'll break my heart."

Edmund and now Tom wanted her to be quick with her story. The two brothers were now alive to what Maria was doing, but only saw the actress and not the woman.

"I now sought protection from the old clergyman of the parish. He received me with compassion. On my knees I begged forgiveness for the scandal I had caused to his parishioners; promised amendment; and he said he did not doubt me. Through his recommendation I went to town; and hid in humble lodgings, procured the measure of subsistence by teaching to the neighboring children what I had learnt under the tuition of my benefactress. To instruct you, my Frederick, was my care and my delight; and in return for your filial love I would not thwart your wishes when they led to a soldier's life: but I saw you go from me with an aching heart. Soon after, my health declined, I was compelled to give up my employment, and, by degrees, became the object you now see me. But, let me add, before I close my calamitous story that when I left the good old clergyman, taking along with me his kind advice and his blessing, I left him a with a firm determination to fulfill the vow I had made of repentance and amendment. I have fulfilled it and now, Frederick, you may look at me again." They have another hug.

"But my father all this time," he said sadly. "I apprehend he died."

"No, he married."

"Married!"

"A woman of virtue of noble birth and immense fortune. Yet." Agatha should cry, but Maria puts her face to his shoulder again. "I had written to many times ; had described your infant innocence and wants; had glanced obliquely at former promises."

"No answer to these letters?"

"Not a word. But in the time of war, you know, letters miscarry."

"Nor did he ever return to this estate?"

"No, since the death of his mother this castle has only been inhabited by servants for he settled as far off as Alsace, upon the estate of his wife."

"I will carry you in my arms to Alsace. No… why should I ever know my father, if he is a villain! My heart is satisfied with a mother. No I will not go to him. I will not disturb his peace I leave that task to his conscience. What say you, mother, can't we do without him? We don't want him. I will write directly to my captain. Let the consequence be what it will, leave you again I cannot. Should I be able to get my discharge, I will work all day at the plough, and all the night with my pen. It will do, mother, it will do! Heaven's goodness will assist me-it will prosper the endeavors of a dutiful son for the sake of a helpless mother."

Maria presses him to her breast. "Where could be found such another son?"

"But tell me my father's name, that I may know how to shun him."

"Baron Wildenhaim."

"Baron Wildenhaim! I shall never forget it. Oh! you are near fainting. Your eyes are cast down. What's the matter ? Speak, mother!"

Falling into his arms. "Nothing particular. Only fatigued with talking. I wish to take a little rest."

"I did not consider that we have been all this time in the open road." He Goes to the Inn, and knocks at the door. "Here, landlord!"

"Well , what is the matter now?"

"Make haste, and get a bed ready for this good woman."

"A bed for this good woman! ha, ha, ha! She slept last night in that pent-house; so she may to-night."

"You are an infamous." He goes back to Maria. "Oh! my poor mother." He runs to the Cottage at a little distance, and knocks. "Ha! halloo! Who is there?"

Charles Maddox returns as Cottager, but the effect is lost because he is wearing the same suit. "Good day, young soldier. What is it you want?"

"Good friend, look at that poor woman. She is perishing in the public road! It is my mother. Will you give her a small corner in your hut? I beg for mercy's sake Heaven will reward you." Crawford spoke as if he was really begging for his mother's life.

"Can't you speak quietly? I understand you very well. Wife, shake up our bed here's a poor sick woman wants it." And with a thrill of terror Fanny walked onto the stage. "Why could not you say all this in fewer words? Why such a long preamble? Why for mercy's sake, and heaven's reward? Why talk about reward for such trifles as these? Come, let us lead her in; and welcome she shall be to a bed, as good as I can give her; and to our homely fare."

"Ten thousand thanks, and blessings on you!"

"Thanks and blessings," Fanny said in her soft voice. "here's a piece of work indeed about nothing. Good sick lady, lean on my shoulder." She looked at Crawford with meaning. "Thanks and reward indeed! Do you think husband and I have lived through these years, and don't know our duty? Lean on my shoulder."


	3. Chapter 3

Act II

There is no scene for a room in the Cottage. The over stuffed chair is replaced with a seeder bench. Maria arranges herself on the bench, Crawford stands over her, while Fanny and Maddox look on with veiled disapproval.

"Good people have you nothing to give her? Nothing that's nourishing," Henry said.

"Run, husband, run, and fetch a bottle of wine from the landlord of the inn," Fanny said.

"No, no-his wine is as bad as his heart: she has drank some of it, which I am afraid has turned to poison," Henry said.

"Suppose, wife, you look for a new-laid egg," Charles said.

"Or a drop of brandy, husband-that mostly cures me," Fanny said.

"Do you hear, mother-will you, mother," Henry said. "She will not. Is there no doctor in this neighborhood?"

"At the end of the village there lives a horse doctor. I have never heard of any other," Fanny said.

"What shall I do? She is dying. My mother is dying.-Pray for her, good people," Henry cried.

"Make yourself easy, dear Frederick," Maria said. "I am well, only weak-Some wholesome nourishment…"

"Yes, mother, directly—directly," Henry said with desperation. "Oh where shall I-no money-not a farthing left."

"Oh, dear me! Had you not paid the rent yesterday, husband…" Fanny cried.

"I then, should know what to do. But as I hope for mercy, I have not a penny in my house," Charles said.

"Then I must… Yes, I will go, and beg.-But should I be refused-I will then-leave my mother in your care, good people-Do all you can for her, I beseech you! I shall soon he with you again," Henry said going off in haste and confusion.

"If he should go to our parson, I am sure he would give him something," Charles said.

"Is that good old man still living, who was minister here some time ago," Maria asks.

"No-It pleased Providence to take that worthy man to heaven two years ago.-We have lost in him both a friend and a father. We shall never get such another," Fanny said.

"Wife, wife, our present rector is likewise a very good man," Charles said.

"Yes! But he is so very young," Fanny said.

"Our late parson was once young too."

"This young man being tutor in our Baron's family, he was very much beloved by them all; and so the Baron gave him this living in consequence," Fanny said to Maria.

"And well he deserved it, for his pious instructions to our young lady: who is, in consequence, good, and friendly to every body," Charles said to Maria.

"What young lady do you mean," Maria asked.

"Our Baron's daughter," Charles said.

"Is she here," Maria asked.

"Dear me! Don't you know that? I thought every body had known that. It is almost five weeks since the Baron and all his family arrived at the castle," Fanny replied.

"Baron Wildenhaim," Maria asked.

"Yes, Baron Wildenhaim," Fanny said.

"And his lady," Maria asked.

At this point the lines for Cottager and wife were changed around.

"His lady died in France many miles from hence, and her death, I suppose, was the cause of his coming to this estate-For the Baron has not been here till within these five weeks ever since he was married. We regretted his absence much, and his arrival has caused great joy," Fanny said.

"By all accounts the Baroness was very haughty; and very whimsical," Charles said.

"Spouse, spouse, never speak ill of the dead. Say what you please against the living, but not a word against the dead," Fanny said.

"And yet, wife , I believe the dead care least what is said against them-And so, if you please, I'll tell my story. The late Baroness was, they say, haughty and proud; and they do say, the Baron was not so happy as he might have been; but he, bless him, good Baron is still the same as when a boy. Soon after Madam had closed her eyes, he left France, and came to Wildenhaim, his native country," Charles said.

"Many times has he joined in our village dances. Afterwards, when he became an officer, he was rather wild, as most young men are," Fanny said.

"Yes, I remember when he fell in love with poor Agatha, Friburg's daughter: what a piece of work that was-It did not do him much credit. That was a wicked thing," Charles said.

"Have done-no more of this-It is not well to stir up old grievances," Fanny said.

"Why, you said I might speak ill of the living. 'Tis very hard indeed, if one must not speak ill of one's neighbors. dead, nor alive," Charles said.

"Who knows whether he was the father of Agatha's child? She never said he was," Fanny said.

". Nobody but him-that I am sure-I would lay wager-no, no, wife -you must not take his part-it was very wicked! Who knows what is now become of that poor creature? She has not been heard of this many a year. May be she is starving for hunger. Her father might have lived longer too, if that misfortune had not happened."

Maria faints as stiffly as a board. The lines for Cottager and wife are restored.

"See here! Help! She is fainting-take hold," Charles said.

"Oh, poor woman," Fanny said.

"Let us take her into the next room."

"Oh poor woman!-I am afraid she will not live. Come, cheer up, cheer up. You are with those who feel for you." Fanny quickly leaves the stage, Charles fallows smiling and Maria walks off like a graceful gazelle.

A scene of an apartment in the Castle. There should be a table spread for breakfast, but the stage is clear. Mr. Yates enters as the Baron and Tom enters as Gentleman.

"Has not Count Castle left his chamber yet," Yates asks.

"No, my lord, he has but now rung for his valet," Tom said.

"The whole castle smells of his perfumery. Go, call my daughter hither. [Exit Gentleman.] And am I after all to have an ape for a son-in-law? No, I shall not be in a hurry-I love my daughter too well. We must be better acquainted before I give her to him. I shall not sacrifice my Amelia to the will of others, as I myself was sacrificed. The poor girl might, in thoughtlessness, say yes, and afterwards be miserable. What a pity she is not a boy! The name of Wildenhaim will die with me. My fine estates, my good peasants, all will fall into the hands of strangers. Oh! why was not my Amelia a boy?"

Mary enters and kisses Yates's hand. "Good morning, dear my lord."

"Good morning, Amelia. Have you slept well?"

"Oh! yes, papa. I always sleep well," Mary said.

"Not a little restless last night?"

"No."

"Amelia, you know you have a father who loves you, and I believe you know you have a suitor who come to ask permission to love you. Tell me candidly how you like Count Castle?"

"Very well."

"Do not you blush when I talk of him?"

"No."

"No, I am sorry for that." He should have said the line in a low tone of voice, but did not." Have you dreamt of him?"

"No."

"Have you not dreamt at all tonight?"

"Oh yes," Mary said looking at Edmund. "I have dreamt of our chaplain, Mr. Anhalt."

"Ah ha! As if he stood before you and the Count to ask for the ring."

"No, not that… I dreamt we were all still in France, and he, my tutor, just going to take his leave of us for ever! I 'woke with the fright, and found my eyes full of tears."

"Psha! I want to know if you can love the Count. You saw him at the last ball we were at in France: when he capered round you; when he danced minuets; when he," Yates said. "But I cannot say what his conversation was."

"Nor I either," Mary said. "I do not remember a syllable of it."

"No? Then I do not think you like him."

"I believe not."

"But I think proper to acquaint you he is rich, and of great consequence: rich, and of consequence; do you hear?"

"Yes, dear papa. But my tutor has always told me that birth and fortune are inconsiderable things, and cannot give happiness."

"There he is right," Yates said flatly. "But if it happens that birth and fortune are joined with sense and virtue…"

"But is it so with Count Castle?"

"I will ask you a few questions on this subject; but be sure to answer me honestly, speak truth."

"I never told an untruth in my life," Mary said brightly.

"Nor ever conceal the truth from me, I command you."

"Indeed, my lord, I never will."

"I take you at your word and now reply to me truly; do you like to hear the Count spoken of?"

"Good, or bad?"

"Good. Good."

"Oh yes; I like to hear good of every body," she said gaily.

"But do not you feel a little fluttered when he is talked of?"

"No," she said with a sigh.

"Are not you a little embarrassed?"

"No," she said flatly.

"Don't you wish sometimes to speak to him, and have not the courage to begin?"

"No," she said as if the matter should be obvious.

"Do not you wish to take his part when his companions laugh at him?"

"No," Mary said laughingly. "I love to laugh at him myself."

"Are not you afraid of him when he comes near you?"

"No, not at all," she said. "Oh yes—once."

"Ah I Now it comes!"

"Once at a ball he trod on my foot; and I was so afraid he should tread on me again," she said in a lively tone.

"You put me out of patience. Hear, Amelia! To see you happy is my wish. But matrimony, without concord, is like a duetteo badly performed; for that reason, nature, the great composer of all harmony, has ordained, that, when bodies are allied, hearts should be in perfect unison. However, I will send Mr. Anhalt to you…"

"Do, papa."

"He shall explain to you my sentiments. A clergyman can do this better than," Yates said as Tom entered. "Go directly to Mr. Anhalt, tell him that I shall be glad to see him for a quarter of an hour if he is not engaged."

"Wish him a good morning from me," Mary said happily.

"The Count is a tedious time dressing," Yates said looking at his watch. "Have you breakfasted, Amelia?"

"No, papa," Mary said looking around for a table.

"How is the weather? Have you walked this morning?"

"Oh, yes." They stood in the middle of the stage. "I was in the garden at five o'clock; it is very fine."

"Then I'll go out shooting. I do not know in what other way to amuse my guest."

Mr. Rushworth enters as Count Castle. "Ah, my dear Colonel! Miss Wildenhaim, I kiss your hand."

"Good morning! Good morning! though it is late in the day, Count. In the country we should rise earlier," Yates said.

Amelia should offer the Count a Cup of tea, but Mary does not have it. "Is it Hebe herself, or Venus, or…"

"Ha, ha, ha! Who can help laughing at his nonsense," Mary said.

"Neither Venus, nor Hebe; but, Amelia Wildenhaim, if you please," Yates said.

"You are beautiful, Miss Wildenhaim. Upon my honor, I think so. I have traveled, and seen much of the world, and yet I can positively admire you," Mr. Rushworth said without needing a prompt.

"I am sorry I have not seen the world," Mary replied.

"Wherefore," asked Mr. Rushworth.

"Because I might then, perhaps, admire you," Mary said flatly.

"True; for I am an epitome of the world. In my travels I learnt delicacy in Italy, hauteur, in Spain in France, enterprise in Russia, prudence—in England, sincerity in Scotland, frugality and in the wilds of America, I learnt love." Mr. Rushworth needed to be prompted three times during this speech.

"Is there any country where love is taught," Mary asked looking board.

"In all barbarous countries. But the whole system is exploded in places that are civilized."

"And what is substituted in its stead?"

"Intrigue." Here he needed to be prompted.

"What a poor, uncomfortable substitute!"

"There are other things Song, dance, the opera, and war."

"What are you talking of there," Yates asked from across the stage.

"Of war, Colonel," said Mr. Rushworth.

"Ay, we like to talk on what we don't understand," Yates said.

"Therefore, to a lady, I always speak of politics; and to her father, on love," Mr. Rushworth said proud of the fact that he did not need help.

"I believe, Count, notwithstanding your sneer, I am still as much of a proficient in that art as yourself," Yates said.

"I do not doubt it, my dear Colonel, for you are a soldier: and since the days of Alexander, whoever conquers men is certain to overcome women." Here he needed to be prompted twice.

"An achievement to animate a poltroon," Yates said flatly.

"And, I verily believe, gains more recruits than the king's pay." He made it to the last two words before needing a prompt.

"Now we are on the subject of arms, should you like to go out a shooting with me for an hour before dinner?"

"Bravo, Colonel! A charming thought! This will give me an opportunity to use my elegant gun: the but is inlaid with mother-of-pearl. You cannot find better work, or better taste. Even my coat of arms is engraved." He was thinking of his finery not yet finished.

"But can you shoot?" Mr. Yates asked the question, but Mary hid a smile.

"That I have never tried except, with my eyes, at a fine woman."

"I am not particular what game I pursue. I have an old gun; it does not look fine; but I can always bring down my bird." Mr. Yates was thinking of his new handsome gun inlayed with gold.

Tom enters. "Mr. Anhalt begs leave…"

"Tell him to come in. I shall be ready in a moment," Yates said.

"Who is Mr. Anhalt," Rushworth asked.

"Oh, a very good man," Mary said with warmth.

"A good man. In Italy, that means a religious man; in France, it means a cheerful man; in Spain, it means a wise man; and in England, it means a rich man. Which good man of all these is Mr. Anhalt." Here he needed to be prompted four times!

"A good man in every country, except England," Mary said.

"And give me the English good man, before that of any other nation."

"And of what nation would you prefer your good woman to be, Count," Mr. Yates asked.

"Of England," Rushworth replied looking at Maria.

"In compliment to me," Mary remarked knowing the he should have said Germany.

"In justice to my own judgment." He was proud not to need a prompt.

"Certainly. For have we not an instance of one German woman, who possesses every virtue that ornaments the whole sex; whether as a woman of illustrious rank, or in the more exalted character of a wife, and a mother," Yates said.

Edmund enters as Anhalt. "I come by your command, Baron."

"Quick Count. Get your elegant gun. I pass your apartments, and will soon call for you," Yates said.

"I fly.-Beautiful Amelia, it is a sacrifice I make to your father, that I leave for a few hours his amiable daughter," Rushworth said leaving the stage.

"My dear Amelia, I think it scarcely necessary to speak to Mr. Anhalt, or that he should speak to you, on the subject of the Count; but as he is here, leave us alone," Yates said.

"Good morning, Mr. Anhalt. I hope you are very well," Mary said leaving the stage.

"I'll tell you in a few words why I sent for you. Count Castle is here, and wishes to marry my daughter."

"Really," Edmund said mockingly.

"He is… he… in a word I don't like him."

"And Miss Wildenhaim?"

"I shall not command, neither persuade her to the marriage I know too well the fatal influence of parents on such a subject. Objections to be sure, if they could be removed, but when you find a man's head without brains, and his bosom without a heart, these are important articles to supply. Young as you are, Anhalt, I know no one so able to restore, or to bestow those blessings on his fellow-creatures, as you." Edmund bows. "The Count wants a little of my daughter's simplicity and sensibility. Take him under your care while he is here, and make him something like yourself. You have succeeded to my wish in the education of my daughter. Form the Count after your own manner. I shall then have what I have sighed for all my life, a son."

"With your permission, Baron, I will ask one question. What remains to interest you in favor of a man, whose head and heart are good for nothing?"

"Birth and fortune. Yet, if I thought my daughter absolutely disliked him, or that she loved another, I would not thwart a first affection; no, for the world, I would not. But that her affections are already bestowed, is not probable."

"Are you of opinion that she will never fall in love?"

"Oh! no. I am of opinion that no woman ever arrived at the age of twenty without that misfortune. But this is another subject. Go to Amelia, explain to her the duties of a wife and of a mother. If she comprehends them, as she ought, then ask her if she thinks she could fulfill those duties, as the wife of Count Castle."

"I will. But, I… Miss Wildenhaim… I shall… I… I shall obey your commands."

"Do so. Ah! so far this weight is removed; but there lies still a heavier next my heart. You understand me. How is it, Mr. Anhalt? Have you not yet been able to make any discoveries on that unfortunate subject?"

"I have taken infinite pains; but in vain. No such person is to be found."

"Believe me, this burthen presses on my thoughts so much, that many nights I go without sleep. A man is sometimes tempted to commit such depravity when young. Oh, Anhalt! had I, in my youth, had you for a tutor; but I had no instructor but my passions; no governor but my own will," Yates said leaving the stage.

"This commission of the Baron's in respect to his daughter, I am… If I should meet her now, I cannot… I must recover myself first, and then prepare.-A walk in the fields, and a fervent prayer. After these, I trust, I shall return, as a man whose views are solely placed on a future world; all hopes in this, with fortitude resigned," Edmund said before leaving the stage.


	4. Chapter 4

Act III

Henry Crawford stands in the middle of the stage and looks out to the crowd. "To return with this trifle for which I have stooped to beg! return to see my mother dying! I would rather fly to the world's end. What can I buy with this? It is hardly enough to pay for the nails that will be wanted for her coffin. My great anxiety will drive me to distraction. However, let the consequence of our affliction be what it may, all will fall upon my father's head; and may he pant for Heaven's forgiveness, as my poor mother." There should be the sound of gun fire. "Here they come, a nobleman, I suppose, or a man of fortune. Yes, yes… and I will once more beg for my mother. May Heaven send relief,."

"Quick, quick, Count! Aye, aye, that was a blunder indeed. Don't you see the dogs? There they run they have lost the scent," Mr. Yates said.

"So much the better, Colonel, for I must take a little breath," Mr. Rushworth said.

"Gentleman, I beg you will bestow from your superfluous wants something to relieve the pain, and nourish the weak frame, of an expiring woman," Crawford said.

"What police is here! that a nobleman's amusements should be interrupted by the attack of vagrants," Rushworth said.

"Have pity, noble Sir, and relieve the distress of an unfortunate son, who supplicates for his dying mother," Crawford said to Yates.

"I think, young soldier, it would be better if you were with your regiment on duty, instead of begging," Yates said dropping a coin into Crawford's hand.

"I would with all my heart: but at this present moment my sorrows are too great. I entreat your pardon. What you have been so good as to give me is not enough," Crawford said.

"Not enough," Yates yells.

"No, it is not enough," Crawford said.

Rushworth had a line here, but nobody waited for the prompter.

"If you have a charitable heart, give me one dollar," Crawford said.

"This is the first time I was ever dictated by a beggar what to give him," Yates said.

"With one dollar you will save a distracted man," Crawford said.

"I don't choose to give any more. Count, go on," Yates said.

Mr. Rushworth exited the stage and Yates follows, but Crawford seizes him by the breast and draws his wooden sword. "Your purse, or your life!"

"Here! here! seize and secure him," Yates yelled.

Tom enters laying hold of Henry and disarming him. "What have I done?".

"Take him to the castle, and confine him in one of the towers. I shall follow you immediately," Yates commanded.

"One favor I have to beg, one favor only. I know that I am guilty and am ready to receive the punishment my crime deserves. But I have a mother, who is expiring for want. Pity her, if you cannot pity me; bestow on her relief. If you will send to yonder hut, you will find that I do not impose on you a falsehood. For her it was I drew my sword for her I am ready to die," Crawford said with real feeling.

"Take him away, and imprison him where I told you," Yates said.

"Woe to that man to whom I owe my birth," Crawford said as tom led him off the stage.

"Here, Frank, run directly to yonder hamlet, inquire in the first, second, and third cottage for a poor sick woman—and if you really find such a person, give her this purse," Yates said to Mr. Maddox. "A most extraordinary event! and what a well-looking youth! something in his countenance and address which struck me inconceivably! If it is true that he begged for his mother, But if he did for the attempt upon my life, he must die. Vice is never half so dangerous, as when it assumes the garb of morality," Yates said wisely.

Mr. Yates leaves the stage and Mary Crawford enters.

"Why am I so uneasy; so peevish; who has offended me? I did not mean to come into this room. In the garden I intended to go. No, I will not… yes, I will… just go, and look if my auriculars are still in blossom; and if the apple tree is grown which Mr. Anhalt planted.—I feel very low-spirited, something must be the matter. Why do I cry? Am I not well?" Edmund enters. "good morning, my dear Sir… Mr. Anhalt, I meant to say… I beg pardon," Mary said effecting a blush.

"Never mind, Miss Wildenhaim, I don't dislike to hear you call me as you did," Edmund said with a smile.

"In earnest," she asked.

"Really. You have been crying. May I know the reason? The loss of your mother, still," He asked kindly.

"No, I have left off crying for her."

"I beg pardon if I have come at an improper hour; but I wait upon you by the commands of your father."

"You are welcome at all hours. My father has more than once told me that he who forms my mind I should always consider as my greatest benefactor. And my heart tells me the same."

"I think myself amply rewarded by the good opinion you have of me."

"When I remember what trouble I have sometimes given you, I cannot be too grateful," she said with a playful smile.

"I… I come from your father with a commission. If you please, we will sit down." There should be chairs for him to place, but there are not. "Count Castle is arrived."

"Yes, I know," she said.

"And do you know for what reason," he asked.

"He wishes to marry me," she said.

"Your Father wishes that I should ascertain whether you have an inclination…" he started.

"For the Count, or for matrimony do you mean," she asked.

"For matrimony," he answered.

"All things that I don't know, and don't understand, are quite indifferent to me," she said.

"For that very reason I am sent to you to explain the good and the bad of which matrimony is composed," he said.

"Then I beg first to be acquainted with the good," she said.

"When two sympathetic hearts meet in the marriage state, matrimony may be called a happy life. When such a wedded pair find thorns in their path, each will be eager, for the sake of the other, to tear them from the root. Where they have to mount hills, or wind a labyrinth, the most experienced will lead the way, and be a guide to his companion. Patience and love will accompany them in their journey, while melancholy and discord they leave far behind.—Hand in hand they pass on from morning till evening, through their summer's day, till the night of age draws on, and the sleep of death overtakes the one. The other, weeping and mourning, yet looks forward to the bright region where he shall meet his still surviving partner, among trees and flowers which themselves have planted, in fields of eternal verdure," he said.

"You may tell my father I'll marry," she said.

"This picture is pleasing; but I must beg you not to forget that there is another on the same subject. When convenience, and fair appearance joined to folly and ill-humor, forge the fetters of matrimony, they gall with their weight the married pair. Discontented with each other at variance in opinions their mutual aversion increases with the years they live together. They contend most, where they should most unite; torment, where they should most soothe. In this rugged way, choked with the weeds of suspicion, jealousy, anger, and hatred, they take their daily journey, till one of these also sleep in death. The other then lifts up his dejected head, and calls out in declamations of joy Oh, liberty! dear liberty!"

"I will not marry," she said.

"You mean to say, you will not fall in love," he said.

"Oh no! I am in love," she said.

"Are in love! And with the Count?" He should have said the line with a note of fear, but did not.

"I wish I was," she said riley.

"Why so," he asked.

"Because he would, perhaps, love me again."

"Who is there that would not?"

"Would you?" Mary asked the question with real feeling.

"I am out of the question," he said in a soft voice.

"No; you are the very person to whom I have put the question," she said with a look of meaning.

"What do you mean," He said with pain.

"I am glad you don't understand me. I was afraid I had spoken too plain," she said backing away.

"Understand you! As to that… I am not dull," he said.

"I know you are not And as you have for a long time instructed me, why should not I now begin to teach you?"

"Teach me what?"

"Whatever I know, and you don't."

"There are some things I had rather never know."

"So you may remember I said when you began to teach me mathematics. I said I had rather not know it But now I have learnt it gives me a great deal of pleasure," she said with a playful smile. "Perhaps, who can tell, but that I might teach something as pleasant to you, as resolving a problem is to me."

"Woman herself is a problem."

"And I'll teach you to make her out."

"You teach?"

"Why not? none but a woman can teach the science of herself: and though I own I am very young, a young woman may be as agreeable for a tutoress as an old one. I am sure I always learnt faster from you than from the old clergyman who taught me before you came."

"This is nothing to the subject."

"What is the subject?"

"Love," Edmund said.

"Come, then, teach it me teach it me as you taught me geography, languages, and other important things," she said coming closer to him.

"Pshaw!"

"Ah! you won't You know you have already taught me that, and you won't begin again," she said in that playful way.

"You misconstrue you misconceive every thing I say or do. The subject I came to you upon was marriage," he said.

"A very proper subject from the man who has taught me love, and I accept the proposal," she said. Edmund has a line, but forgets it. "Ay, I see how it is You have no inclination to experience with me the good part of matrimony; I am not the female with whom you would like to go hand in hand up hills, and through labyrinths with whom you would like to root up thorns; and with whom you would delight to plant lilies and roses. No, you had rather call out, Oh liberty, dear liberty."

"Why do you force from me, what is villainous to own? I love you more than life Oh, Amelia! had we lived in those golden times, which the poets picture, no one but you But as the world is changed, your birth and fortune make our union impossible To preserve the character, and more the feelings of an honest man, I would not marry you without the consent of your father And could I, dare I propose it to him." About half way through the speech Edmund needed help. He looked for Fanny, but Mr. Maddox had taken the place of prompter.

"He has commanded me never to conceal or disguise the truth. I will propose it to him. The subject of the Count will force me to speak plainly, and this will be the most proper time, while he can compare the merit of you both," she said.

"I conjure you not to think of exposing yourself and me to his resentment."

"It is my father's will that I should marry It is my father's wish to see me happy If then you love me as you say, I will marry; and will be happy but only with you. I will tell him this. At first he will start; then grow angry; then be in a passion In his passion he will call me undutiful: but he will soon recollect himself, and resume his usual smiles, saying Well, well, if he love you, and you love him, in the name of heaven, let it be. Then I shall hug him round the neck, kiss his hands, run away from him, and fly to you; it will soon be known that I am your bride, the whole village will come to wish me joy, and heaven's blessing will follow."

Tom enters as Verdun, the Butler.

"Ah! is it you," she said to Tom.

"Without vanity, I have taken the liberty to enter this apartment the moment the good news reached my ears," Tom said.

"What news," Mary asked.

"Pardon an old servant, your father's old butler, gracious lady, who has had the honor to carry the baron in his arms-and afterwards with humble submission to receive many a box o' the ear from you-if he thinks it his duty to make his congratulations with due reverence on this happy day, and to join with the muses in harmonious tunes on the lyre," Tom said so quickly that only half of what he said was understandable.

"Oh! my good butler, I am not in a humor to listen to the muses, and your lyre," Mary said.

"There has never been a birth-day, nor wedding-day, nor christening-day, celebrated in your family, in which I have not joined with the muses in full chorus.-In forty-six years, three hundred and ninety-seven congratulations on different occasions have dropped from my pen. To-day, the three hundred and ninety-eighth is coming forth;-for heaven has protected our noble master, who has been in great danger," Tom said still talking too quick.

"Danger! My father in danger! What do you mean," Mary demanded.

"One of the gamekeepers has returned to inform the whole castle of a base and knavish trick, of which the world will talk, and my poetry hand down to posterity," Tom remarked.

"What, what is all this," Mary demanded.

"The baron, my lord and master, in company with the strange Count, had not been gone a mile beyond the lawn, when one of them…" Tom started.

"What happened? Speak for heaven's sake," Mary cried.

"My verse shall tell you," Tom said.

"No, no; tell us in prose," Mary said.

"Yes, in prose," Edmund added.

"Ah, you have neither of you ever been in love, or you would prefer poetry to prose. But excuse the haste in which it was written. I heard the news in the fields-always have paper and a pencil about me, and composed the whole forty lines crossing the meadows and the park in my way home.

Block quote start

Oh Muse, ascend the forked mount.

And lofty strains prepare,

About a Baron and a Count,

Who went to hunt the hare.

The hare she ran with utmost speed,

And sad, and anxious looks,

Because the furious hounds indeed.

Were near to her, gadzooks.

At length, the Count and Baron bold

Their footsteps homeward bended;

For why, because, as you were told,

The hunting it was ended.

Before them strait a youth appears,

Who made a piteous pother,

And told a tale with many tears,

About his dying mother.

The youth was in severe distress,

And seemed as he had spent all,

He look'd a soldier by his dress;

For that was regimental.

The Baron's heart was full of ruth,

While from his eye fell brine o!

And soon he gave the mournful youth

A little ready rino.

He gave a shilling as I live,

Which, sure, was mighty well;

But to some people if you give

An inch-they'll take and ell.

The youth then drew his martial knife.

And seized the Baron's collar,

He swore he'd have the Baron's life,

Or else another dollar.

Then did the Baron in a fume.

Soon raise a mighty din,

Whereon came butler, huntsman, groom,

And eke the whipper-in.

Maugre this young man's warlike coat,

They bore him off to prison;

And held so strongly by his throat,

They almost stopt his whizzen.

Soon may a neck cloth, call'd a rope,

Of robbing cure this elf;

If so I'll write, without a trope,

His dying speech myself.

And had the Baron chanc'd to die,

Oh! grief to all the nation,

I must have made an elegy,

And not this fine narration.

Moral.

Henceforth let those who all have spent,

And would by begging live,

Take warning here, and be content,

With what folks chose to give.

Block quote end

Tom read slower, but still needed to be prompted five times. He stopped half way through then started from the top reading as fast as he possablely could.

"Your muse, Mr. Butler, is in a very inventive humor this morning," Mary said.

"And your tale too improbable, even for fiction," Edmund added.

"Improbable! It's a real fact," Tom said.

"What, a robber in our grounds, at noon-day? Very likely indeed," Mary said.

"I don't say it was likely-I only say it is true," Tom declared.

"No, no, Mr. Verdun, we find no fault with your poetry; but don't attempt to impose it upon us for truth," Edmund said.

"Poets are allowed to speak falsehood, and we forgive yours," Mary said.

"I won't be forgiven, for I speak truth-And here the robber comes, in custody, to prove my words," Tom said.

"Look! as I live, so he does-They come nearer, he's a young man, and has something interesting in his figure. An honest countenance, with grief and sorrow in his face. No, he is no robber-I pity him! Oh! look how the keepers drag him unmercifully into the tower-Now they lock it-Oh! how that poor, unfortunate man must feel," Mary cried.

"Hardly worse than I do," Edmund said.

"A thousand congratulations, my dear papa," Mary said to Mr. Yates without hugging him.

"For Heaven's sake spare your congratulations. The old Butler, in coming up stairs, has already overwhelmed me with them," Yates said.

"Then, it is true, my Lord? I could hardly believe the old man," Edmund said.

"And the young prisoner, with all his honest looks, is a robber," Mary asked.

"He is; but I verily believe for the first and last time. A most extraordinary event, Mr. Anhalt. This young man begged; then drew his sword upon me; but he trembled so, when he seized me by the breast, a child might have overpowered him. I almost wish he had made his escape-this adventure may cost him his life, and I might have preserved it with one dollar: but, now, to save him would set a bad example," Yates said.

"Oh no! my lord, have pity on him! Plead for him, Mr. Anhalt!"

"Amelia, have you had any conversation with Mr. Anhalt?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Respecting matrimony?"

"Yes; and I have told him…" Mary started.

"According to your commands, Baron…" Edmund started.

"But he has conjured me…" Mary started.

"I have endeavored, my Lord, to find out…" Edmund said.

"Yet, I am sure, dear papa, your affection for me…" Mary started.

"You wish to say something to me in your closet, my Lord," Edmund said.

"What the devil is all this conversation? You will not let one another speak-I don't understand either of you," Yates said.

"Dear father, have you not promised you will not thwart my affections when I marry, but suffer me to follow their dictates," Mary said.

"Certainly."

"Do you hear, Mr. Anhalt?"

"I beg pardon-I have a person who is waiting for me-I am obliged to retire."

"I shall expect you in my closet. I am going there immediately," Yates said to Edmund's retreating back.

"Pray, my Lord, stop a few minutes longer. I have something of great importance to say to you," Mary said.

"Something of importance! to plead for the young man, I suppose! But that's a subject I must not listen to."

"I wish to plead for two young men-For one, that he may be let out of prison: for the other, that he may be made a prisoner for life. [Looks out.] The tower is still locked. How dismal it must be to be shut up in such a place; and perhaps-[Calls] Butler! Butler! Come this way. I wish to speak to you. This young soldier has risked his life for his mother, and that accounts for the interest I take in his misfortunes. Pray, have you carried any thing to the prisoner to eat?"

"Yes."

"What was it?"

"Some fine black bread; and water as clear as crystal," Tom said.

"Are you not ashamed! Even my father pities him. Go directly down to the kitchen, and desire the cook to give you something good and comfortable; and then go into the cellar for a bottle of wine."

"Good and comfortable indeed!"

"And carry both to the tower."

"I am willing at any time, dear Lady, to obey your orders; but, on this occasion, the prisoner's food must remain bread and water-It is the Baron's particular command."

"Ah! My father was in the height of passion when he gave it."

"Whatsoever his passion might be, it is the duty of a true and honest dependent to obey his Lord's mandates. I will not suffer a servant in this house, nor will I, myself, give the young man any thing except bread and water-But I'll tell you what I'll do-I'll read my verses to him."

"Give me the key of the cellar-I'll go myself."

"And there's my verses," he said taking a key and paper from his pocket. "Carry them with you, they may comfort him as much as the wine." Mary throws the paper to the floor before exiting. "Not take them! Refuse to take them!" he lifts them from the floor with the utmost respect. " I must have made an elegy, And not this fine narration"

Chapters Coming Soon!

Home Coming

Tangled

In Between The Rain Drops


	5. Chapter 5

Authoress Note

I should like the reader to know that I have been using the public domain copy of Mansfield Park found at () The events of this chapter replaces chapter 19 of the novel. Note too, that I am not being very original in my writing I am doing this as a brain exercise while I work on my real project, Mansfield Ranch.

Home Coming

Over the last week Mr. Maddox had made up his mind that he wanted to court Fanny Price. He was a ruthlessly shrewd businessman and knew that a connection to Sir Thomas Bertram was worth twenty thousand pounds. He asked Cassandra to befriend Miss Price; he wanted to learn her habits, motivations and if she liked anyone. After the first rehearsal was over the Mansfield Players reviewed their own performance, no one noticed that Miss Maddox and Fanny were no longer in the room. Cassandra had taken her out of the theater and into the hall to talk, for she had noticed how agitated Fanny had become. Watching the nature and feeling of Edmund's and Mary's display had discomposed her to such a degree Fanny had to close her book; at that moment Cassandra had noticed and with a quick look at her brother, she had taken action.

"You are in love with Mr. Edmund Bertram." It was a statement not a question. Fanny started back in horror at Cassandra's declaration, but she had a calm expression on her pretty face.

"The Bertrams have been very kind to me," Fanny started. "They have provided me with an excellent education and fine manners; and I can not forget all that Sir Thomas has done to assist my brothers to a profession, I am very grateful for all of this. It would be most ungrateful in me to even think of marriage to one of my cousins."

"That sounds like something Mrs. Norris would say," Cassandra remarked. "But you have not answered my question. Do you love Edmund Bertram?"

"It would be so very wrong in me to even think of him in that way," Fanny said tears in her eyes.

"I saw how much you were distressed by the play and I saw very little acting," Cassandra muttered. "Do you love Mr. Edmund?"

Fanny was now shaking in her shoes and the tears were streaming down her face," Yes."

"You are afraid of something or should I say someone. Who is it, Mrs. Norris?" Cassandra had already pushed Fanny into a sitting room not in use and closed the door behind her.

"Sir Thomas and Mrs. Norris would be very angry with me if they knew," Fanny said quietly.

"Then I'll make sure that I don't tell them," Cassandra said. "Can you tell me what in particular you fear?"

Fanny paused to compose herself. "I am certain to be banished from this house ."

"A reasonable expectation, what else?"

"My relationship with Edmund will be destroyed."

"A little melodramatic, but your relationship would have to change, go on."

Fanny elaborated on her fears and Cassandra remained quiet. "Well now, what next," Cassandra asked calmly when she was finished.

"What, what do you mean," Fanny wanted to know.

"What will you do with the rest of your life. You now know that Mr. Edmund will not return your affections and will likely marry Miss Crawford. I hope you mean to do something else with your life other than to cry over what can never be."

Fanny had not given much thought to that.

"Do you want to spend the rest of your life being dependent on the Bertrams?"

"No, I want a home of my own, a husband, a family and independence," Fanny replied.

"How do you think you can gain that?"

"I must go out," Fanny said slowly. "But I don't know when that will happen."

"By all rights it should have already have happened," Cassandra replied. "After Miss Bertram marries you must be ready to come out. And I can clearly see that you have not been brought up to that trade. As soon as the play is over your lessons will begin ."

"My lessons in what?"

"How to court men and how to establish your social position," Cassandra replied.

"I come from your theatre," Sir Thomas said returning to the drawing room. "I found myself in it rather unexpectedly. Its vicinity to my own room—but in every respect indeed it took me by surprise, as I had not the smallest suspicion of your acting having assumed so serious a character. It appears a neat job, however, as far as I could judge by candle-light, and does my friend Christopher Jackson credit." And then he would have changed the subject, and sipped his coffee in peace over domestic matters of a calmer hue; but Mr. Yates, without discernment to catch Sir Thomas's meaning, or diffidence, or delicacy, or discretion enough to allow him to lead the discourse while he mingled among the others with the least obtrusiveness himself, would keep him on the topic of the theatre, would torment him with questions and remarks relative to it, and finally would make him hear the whole history of his disappointment at Ecclesford. Sir Thomas listened most politely, but found much to offend his ideas of decorum, and confirm his ill-opinion of Mr. Yates's habits of thinking from the beginning to the end of the story; and when it was over, could give him no other assurance of sympathy than what a slight bow conveyed.

"This was, in fact, the origin of our acting," said Tom, after a moment's thought. "My friend Yates brought the infection from Ecclesford, and it spread as those things always spread, you know, sir—the faster, probably, from your having so often encouraged the sort of thing in us formerly. It was like treading old ground again."

Mr. Yates took the subject from his friend as soon as possible, and immediately gave Sir Thomas an account of what they had done and were doing, told him of the gradual increase of their views, the happy conclusion of their first difficulties, and present promising state of affairs; relating every thing with so blind an interest as made him not only totally unconscious of the uneasy movements of many of his friends as they sat, the change of countenance, the fidget, the hem! of unquietness, but prevented him even from seeing the expression of the face on which his own eyes were fixed—from seeing Sir Thomas's dark brow contract as he looked with inquiring earnestness at his daughters and Edmund, dwelling particularly on the latter, and speaking a language, a remonstrance, a reproof, which he felt at his heart. Not less acutely was it felt by Fanny, who had edged back her chair behind her aunt's end of the sofa, and, screened from notice herself, saw all that was passing before her. Such a look of reproach at Edmund from his father she could never have expected to witness; and to feel that it was in any degree deserved, was an aggravation indeed. Sir Thomas's look implied, "On your judgment, Edmund, I depended; what have you been about?"—She knelt in spirit to her uncle, and her bosom swelled to utter, "Oh! not to him. Look so to all the others, but not to him!"

Mr. Yates was still talking. "To own the truth, Sir Thomas, we had conducted a rehearsal earlier today. We were going through the three first acts, and not unsuccessfully upon the whole. Our company is now so dispersed from the Crawfords and Maddoxes being gone home, that nothing more can be done tonight; but if you will give us the honor of your company tomorrow, I should not be afraid of the result. We bespeak your indulgence, you understand, as young performers; we bespeak your indulgence."

"My indulgence shall be given, sir," replied Sir Thomas gravely, "but without any other rehearsal."—And with a relenting smile he added, "I come home to be happy and indulgent." Then turning away towards any or all of the rest, he tranquilly said, "Mr. and Miss Crawford were mentioned in my last letters from Mansfield. Do you find them agreeable acquaintance?"

Tom was the only one at all ready with an answer, but he being entirely without particular regard for either, without jealousy either in love or acting, could speak very handsomely of both. "Mr. Crawford was a most pleasant, gentleman-like man;—his sister a sweet, pretty, elegant, lively girl."

Mr. Rushworth could be silent no longer. "I do not say he is not gentleman-like, considering; but you should tell your father he is not above five feet eight, or he will be expecting a well-looking man."

Sir Thomas did not quite understand this, and looked with some surprise at the speaker.

"If I must say what I think," continued Mr. Rushworth, "in my opinion it is very disagreeable to be always rehearsing. It is having too much of a good thing. I am not so fond of acting as I was at first. I think we are a great deal better employed, sitting comfortably here among ourselves, and doing nothing."

Sir Thomas looked again, and then replied with an approving smile, "I am happy to find our sentiments on this subject so much the same. It gives me sincere satisfaction. That I should be cautious and quick-sighted, and feel many scruples which my children do not feel, is perfectly natural; and equally so that my value for domestic tranquility, for a home which shuts out noisy pleasures, should much exceed theirs. But at your time of life to feel all this, is a most favorable circumstance for yourself and for every body connected with you; and I am sensible of the importance of having an ally of such weight."

Sir Thomas meant to be giving Mr. Rushworth's opinion in better words than he could find himself. He was aware that he must not expect a genius in Mr. Rushworth; but as a well-judging steady young man, with better notions than his elocution would do justice to, he intended to value him very highly. It was impossible for many of the others not to smile. Mr. Rushworth hardly knew what to do with so much meaning; but by looking as he really felt, most exceedingly pleased with Sir Thomas's good opinion, and saying scarcely any thing, he did his best towards preserving that good opinion a little longer.

During the eleven o'clock hour Charles and Cassandra Maddox arrived at the Park. Mrs. Norris informed them that Sir Thomas had returned the evening before and had put an end to their play making. She said this as if she had been forced into helping with the production and had disapproved it from beginning to end.

"Sir Thomas is meeting with the steward and bailiff," Edmund said after civilities were exchanged. "Tom and Yates have gone hunting."

"I will leave my card then," Mr. Maddox said politely. "Sister, do you wish to stay?"

"Yes, Miss Price and I enjoyed each others company so well; but I'll not stay above an hour," Cassandra said.

"Will you be offended if we visit for a time," Charles asked politely. Edmund was not offended, they were showing better manners than Mr. Yates. After Cassandra left the room the two young men went walking in the Park.

"I am a direct person," Charles started. "Over this last week I have come to admire Miss Price and should like to court her. Would your Father oppose that?"

Edmund was taken aback by this sudden declaration. He remembered belatedly that he had promised Fanny not to leave her alone with a stranger. He blazed in his carelessness and was angry with himself, but Mr. Maddox needed an answer. "We do not know you well," Edmund started carefully. "However, I can not see why my Father would oppose a open and upright courtship. I know that wealth and rank will have no influence on Fanny. I am aware, more aware than you can be; that the man who means to make Fanny love him must give notice of his intentions. You will have uphill work ahead of you; for there are all her early attachments and habits in battle array. Before you can get her heart for your own use, you must unfasten it from all the holds upon things animate and inanimate, which so many years growth have confirmed. I know that the apprehension of being forced to quit Mansfield will for a time be arming her against you."

"It is a place to start," Charles said. Charles waited until Sir Thomas was available to talk. After apologizing for intruding he continued, "I have two reasons for being here and I will be quick. First of all, I want to court your niece, she is a lovely young woman, very proper and modest. What I need to know is if you have any expectations for her, Miss Price?"

"Expectations, what do you mean," Sir Thomas wanted to know.

"Is Miss Price intended for Mr. Edmund Bertram, I do not want to over step."

"My niece is more a sister to my sons than a potential wife; I can assure you such a thing is not in motion," Sir Thomas replied seriously.

"Is she intended to work for Lady Bertram and Mrs. Norris for the balance of her life. From what I have observed," Maddox continued quickly. "Is that Lady Bertram is dependent on Miss Price as a companion and (I say this with respect) your children and sister-in-law treats her like a retainer; is she expected to live in this way for the rest of her life?"

Sir Thomas understood what this young man was after, Edmund had tried everything in his power to put an end to the practice. It was time to correct the problem. He would have to find a Lady Companion for his wife, reimbursed Fanny for the three years of unpaid work she had done and set his children right.

"My second reason regards your daughter Miss Bertram," Charles said. "I am the guardian of my two sisters and I would want someone to tell me, what I saw. Henry Crawford is not to be trusted, I saw him carrying on with Miss Bertram in a way I found to be shocking. It is a matter of public information that Miss Bertram and Mr. Rushworth are engaged, Mr. Crawford behaved in a manner that was at best, careless."

"What of my daughter," Sir Thomas wanted to know.

"You should ask Miss Bertram to review her own conduct," Maddox quickly replied. "But in your place I would ask her feelings on the matter at once rather than waiting."


End file.
